Departures
by davros72
Summary: Years later, we see the pain of unrequited love... or was it requited after all?


TITLE: Departures  
AUTHOR: Kevin Schultz  
CATEGORY: Hmm... General? Angst? Emotional character vignette? Dunno.  
Something like that.  
SUMMARY: Years later, we see the pain of unrequited love... or was it  
requited after all?  
FEEDBACK: Sure, if you like, to davros72@prodigy.net  
DISCLAIMERS: I don't own the characters, Talisman Crest, Promark, and them  
folks do, but I like making 'em do stuff that I tell 'em to do. Please  
don't sue me.  
RATING: G  
MAIN CHARACTERS: Phileas, Passepartout, Jules  
SPOILERS: None  
THANKS: To all the other fanfic writers (even the naughty ones!) for their  
terrific work, inspring me to keep up with my own scribblings every now and  
then.  
  
  
========================  
  
DEPARTURES  
  
The estate of Shillingworth Magna sat silently in the gloomy mist. The sun  
had recently risen, but the dense clouds obscured it from view. A carriage  
was parked outside the main entrance, the horses standing silent, as if  
sensing the somber mood of the humans within the house.  
  
The main hallway of the manor was nearly empty. Only a few crates sat near  
the doorway. Upstairs, and along the hallway, the only remaining living  
beings inside were collected in one room. The most active figure, clad in  
traditional valet outfit, scurried about, removing objects and items from  
drawers and mantles, and packing them into the nearby crates. Another  
figure, bearded, grey-haired, and leaning on a handsomely carved cane,  
assisted the valet as best as his old body would allow him to. Occasionally  
he had to sit down on the room's bed to catch his breath. The third figure,  
tall, grey-haired, with neatly trimmed sideburns (also grey), immaculately  
dressed, stood silently, unmoving, in the center of the room, his eyes  
downcast. Eyes open, but not seeing.  
  
The bearded figure stood up from the bed, his little rest period finished  
for now. He bumped into the valet as he stood. "Oh, excuse me,  
Passepartout," the old man said.  
  
The valet bowed, and replied, "Not at all, Master Jules, I am so sorry to  
have gotten in your way. Please forgive me."  
  
Jules Verne chuckled. "Let's just call it a draw, shall we?"  
  
Passepartout smiled and bowed, and continued packing.  
  
"Trust Phileas to lose this place in a card game," Jules said with a weak  
smile as he looked around the room.  
  
Passepartout arched an eyebrow. "Many fortunes can be won or lost with a  
simple game of chance. We must deal with whatever Fate decides to... to  
deal us, I suppose one could say."  
  
Jules nodded. He glanced quickly at the silent man in the center of the  
room. "Phileas," he called, softly.  
  
There was no response.  
  
Jules looked at Passepartout. The valet shrugged, shaking his head. Jules  
turned back to Phileas. He walked up to him, and touched Phileas on the  
shoulder gently. "Phileas," he said quietly, "we're almost done here."  
  
Phileas' only reply was a very small grunt of acknowledgement. His eyes  
remained glued to the floor.  
  
Passepartout opened the last drawer in the room, and began emptying it of  
its contents. He paused, holding a particular item out in front of him.  
The shiny leather-like clothing gleamed, as if new. And yet, it was decades  
old. Its owner had kept good care of it, despite not having been able to  
use it in many years. The gadgets and assorted gear had been removed long  
ago, of course. But Passepartout recognized it immediately. He looked at  
Jules. Jules limped over, and cast his eye upon the piece of clothing. He  
looked at Passepartout, and smiled, a tear welling in his right eye.  
  
"I was always fond of seeing her in this outfit," Jules said, his voice a  
whisper.  
  
"As was I, Master Jules," Passepartout replied, "as was I." Passepartout  
turned, folded the suit up neatly, and placed it delicately into the crate.  
He turned back to the drawer. "That is everything, I believe." He shut the  
drawer, and turned back to the crate. Reaching down, Passepartout lifted up  
the top of the crate, and was about to put it in place, when he heard a  
word.  
  
"Wait."  
  
Jules and Passepartout both jumped in shock from hearing Phileas' strained  
voice. They looked over at their quiet companion.  
  
Phileas lifted his eyes from the floor, his intense gaze focussing on the  
last crate. He turned, and walked steadily over to the wooden box, and  
placed his hands on its top edges. He peered intently inside, eyes landing  
on each item. His gaze flicked from piece to piece, finally coming to rest  
on the leather suit. Her suit. Her favorite suit.  
  
He reached inside and touched the suit, gently picking it up, and holding it  
in front of him. The shape of it gave no doubt as to the distinctly  
feminine body of its former wearer.  
  
Phileas closed his eyes. "I loved her," Phileas breathed, almost too quiet  
for the others to hear. But they heard.  
  
"We all did, Phileas," Jules said, comfortingly.  
  
Phileas' face crumpled suddenly, the tears coming faster than he expected.  
They rolled down his face in a torrent of emotion, his sobs almost making  
his next words incoherent, but not quite. "But I could never tell her! I  
could never tell her how I felt!" He gripped the suit tighter, his body  
shaking with anger and frustration as much as his sobbing.  
  
"She knew, Master," Passepartout replied. "She knew it every time she saw  
you, every time your eyes met. She knew it, and loved you as well."  
  
Phileas smiled through his tears. "She was the only reason I kept going.  
Without her, I fear I might have..." His eyes glazed over, a darkness  
passing in front of them. The darkness passed quickly, to be replaced with  
the light of his joy. "But she wouldn't let me go. She saw the good in me,  
when I was ignorant of it. When I was ignorant of so many things." He  
wiped away his still-running tears. He laughed a bit, saying, "Good God,  
but I loved her! I miss her so much it hurts..."  
  
Jules stepped closer, and clutched Phileas on the shoulder. "We will all  
miss her," he said to Phileas. "But I think, wherever she is, she probably  
misses you even more than we do her."  
  
Phileas laughed some more, his eyes brightening even more at the memory of  
the incomparable Rebecca Fogg.  
  
Phileas straightened himself up, brushed away his tears, and delicately  
placed Rebecca's suit back into the crate. With Passepartout's help, he  
nailed the top onto the crate, and they carried it downstairs. The little  
group loaded the crates onto the waiting carriage outside. Passepartout  
climbed up into the drivers seat as Jules and Phileas climbed into the back.  
  
"Home, Passepartout," Phileas called.  
  
"As you wish, Master," Passepartout called back, as he guided the horses out  
onto the main road.  
  
As the carriage clip-clopped away, Phileas' voice could be heard drifting on  
the light winds, "I did appreciate that harem outfit of hers, as well, you  
know..."  



End file.
